The photo above with me and the dog (the dog is on the right) is from my 1977 post-college hitchhiking trip around the US of A to the tune of 17,000 miles with JT as the soundtrack—”Take to the highway won’t you lend me your name. . . ” Way more than the four years of college, those seven months were when I began the journey into adulthood as often is the case when one sets out on a pilgrimage or a vision quest.

I found out this morning one of my dear friends and traveling companions for five months of that trip died in early May. I had not heard back from him for two years or so and I worried and prayed. The circumstances were sad. Is it any wonder that one-third of the psalms out of the one hundred fifty that are in the Psalter are laments? Today, the strings of my guitar-shaped heart gently weep—not for me, but for my friend and his family. My heart breaks for how much heartbreak there is in this world.

⊕    ⊕    ⊕

When I went to bed last night, I had planned this morning to hit the Send button on a yet-to-be completed post that I had titled “In Memoriam.” It was going to include the list of Americans who died in the last month and a half, so senselessly and callously gunned down with the weapon du jour—a military-like high-powered automatic rifle. I had no idea the title of the post would be a double entendre, now meant for my college friend who toward the end of his life suffered so, and the many grief-stricken in our families, neighborhood, country, and world. I hadn’t planned on writing much of anything. I was just going to post the names of the deceased (murdered) and offer a song in their memory. It’s taken a bit of a turn, for good or bad.

One of the chief reasons I choose to identify as a Christian is because integral to our incarnational spirituality is the conviction that ours is a God of pathos. It’s also why I consciously align myself with our mother religion of Judaism, and in particular, with the conception of God held by the Hebrew prophets. Ours is a suffering with, I’ve been there, compassionate, heartbroken God embodied by Jesus who like an exquisitely beautiful and innocent butterfly was penned cruelly while still alive to the hardwood of human ignominy, greed, incessant power grabs, the fetish of violence, indifference, and pusillanimity (puny-souled).

The Hellenistic conception of the Divine revolved around an idea of perfection whose two main principles were one—the unchanging nature of the Divine (immutability) and, two, the incapability of the Divine to suffer or be affected (impassibility). But this is not the God of the prophets or of Jesus. For Christians, Jesus is the embodiment of the pathos of God; the incarnation of divine concern for humanity and creation. So, I believe, that the “heart” of The Holy One is broken, and continues to break, and that the strings of that heart are gently weeping—gently because of the tenderness of God’s heart and because one can sob and wail only so long. That chorus of sniffles we hear every time we hear the bad news like a broken record playing that same damn tune, the blues yet again, as the streets of this world are continually saturated with blood, include the sniffles of God.

Who imagined just twenty-five years ago that the photos of scattered, empty baby carriages and buggies would be the iconic image—literally, the icon of these times? What a sad and tragic commentary, and what an indictment that so many American public power brokers refuse to pass laws (as so many other far less violent countries have) that will curb the enthusiasm of those who continue to insist on their right to consecrate military-style weapons that prevent parents from identifying their dead children except by resorting to dental records. Rabbi Heschel’s words originally spoken into a world plagued by racism, abject poverty, the Vietnam War, and the suffering of Soviet Jewry, can be adopted and pondered and acted upon by us today. He said, “Some are guilty; all are responsible.”

⊕    ⊕    ⊕

In the madness of fifty days this Spring and Summer 38 men, women, and children lost their lives in the United States by mass shootings carried out with military high-caliber rifles. Their names and ages are listed below. It is our responsibility to prevent the increasing regularity of these barbaric acts from making us passe or numb or used to it. We cannot let these tragedies and traumas cease to shock and nauseate us. So, I offer here In Memoriam the list of the deceased, murdered, stolen. Think of it as a Litany of Saints we honor. Consider taking the time to read the names and behold the one-of-a-kind, unrepeatable faces as you listen to the virtual choir as a simple way of re-membering ourselves to these people and their loved ones as we re-member ourselves to the grief and wild hope of God.

RECENT VICTIMS OF MASS SHOOTINGS USA

May 15, 2022  The 10 Victims of the Mass Shooting
at the Tops Friendly Markets Buffalo, NY

Roberta A. Drury of Buffalo, N.Y., 32
Margus Morrison of Buffalo, N.Y., 52
Andre Mackneil of Auburn, N.Y., 53
Aaron Salter of Lockport, N.Y., 55
Geraldine Talley of Buffalo, N.Y., 62
Celestine Chaney of Buffalo, N.Y., 65

Heyward Patterson of Buffalo, N.Y., 67
Katherine Massey of Buffalo, N.Y., 72
Pearl Young of Buffalo, N.Y., 77
Ruth Whitfield of Buffalo, N.Y.,86

May 24, 2022  The 21 victims of the Mass Shooting
at Robb Elementary school Uvalde, TX

Makenna Lee Elrod, 10
Layla Salazar, 11
Maranda Mathis, 11
Nevaeh Bravo, 10
Jose Manuel Flores Jr., 10
Xavier Lopez, 10
Tess Marie Mata, 10
Rojelio Torres, 10
Eliahna “Ellie” Amyah Garcia, 9
Eliahna A. Torres, 10
Annabell Guadalupe Rodriguez, 10
Jackie Cazares, 9
Uziyah Garcia
Jayce Carmelo Luevanos, 10
Maite Yuleana Rodriguez, 10
Jailah Nicole Silguero, 10
Irma Garcia, 48
Eva Mireles, 44
Amerie Jo Garza, 10
Alexandria “Lexi” Aniyah Rubio, 10
Alithia Ramirez, 10

July 4, 2022    The 7 Victims of the Mass Shooting
at the Fourth of July Parade Highland Park, IL

Irina McCarthy, 35
Kevin McCarthy, 37
Katherine Goldstein, 64
Jacquelyn Sundheim, 63
Stephen Straus, 88
Nicolas Toledo-Zaragoza, 78
Eduardo Uvaldo, 69

LYRICS
NO TIME – TRAD. CAMP MEETING SONGS

Ooo—ooo—ooo—ooo—ooo—ooo—ooo—ooo

Rise, oh fathers, rise, let’s go meet ’em in the skies,
we will hear the angels singing in that morning.
Oh I really do believe that just before the end of time,
we will hear the angels singing in that morning.

Rise, oh mothers, rise, let’s go meet ’em in the skies,
we will hear the angels singing in that morning.
Oh I really do believe that just before the end of time,
we will hear the angels singing in that morning.

No time to tarry here, no time to wait for you,
no time to tarry here, for I’m on my journey home. (repeat)

Brothers, oh, fare ye well, brothers, oh, fare ye well
Brothers, oh, fare ye well, for I’m on my journey home.

Sisters, oh, fare ye well, Sisters, oh, fare ye well,
Sisters, oh, fare ye well, for I’m on my journey home.

Overlapping voices Stanza One

No time to tarry here, no time to wait for you,
no time to tarry here, for I’m on my journey home. (3x more)

Oh I really do believe that just before the end of time,
we will hear the angels singing in that morning.

ARTWORK: (Third from the top) Heartbreak, by Peisy Ting 

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